Through sunny May, through sultry June,

I loved her with a love eternal ;
I spoke her praises to the moon,
I wrote them for the Sunday Journal.

Winthrop M. Praed.
Yet love is not confined to tender ages,
But, like small-pox, attacks at riper stages.

June 8.

Yet look on me-take not thine eyes away,

Which feed upon the love within mine own,
Which is indeed but the reflected ray
Of thine own beauty from my spirit thrown.

Holy, fair, and wise is she,
The heavens such grace did lend her.


(Two Gentlemen of Verona). June 9.

Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown,
With that wild wheel we go not up or down-
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.


(Enid's Song).

A proper man as we shall see in a summer's day.


(Midsummer Night's Dream).

June 8.

June 9.

All of a tenor was their after-life,
No day discoloured with domestic strife ;
No jealousy, but niutual truth believed,
Secure repose, and kindness undeceived.

Dryden. Our friends are as true and our wives are as comely, And our home is still home, be it ever so homely.

Charles Dibdin. June 11.

The knife that cuts our love in two
Will have much tougher work to do
Must cut your softness, truth, and spirit
Down to the vulgar size of merit.

Samuel Bishop.
But he was wise and wary of her will,
And ever held his hand upon his heart,

June 12.

Connubial love has dearer names,
And fairer ties, and sweeter claims,
Than e'er unwedded hearts can feel,
Than wedded hearts can e'er reveal.

John Logan.

There's nothing half so sweet in life
As Love's young dream.


June 11.

June 12. But a smooth and steadfast mind,

Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combin'd, Kindle never-dying fires.

Thomas Carew. His wife is neither toss'd in boist'rous seas Of troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease.

Giles and Phineas Fletcher. June 14.

There is nae luck about the house,

There is nae luck at a',
There's little pleasure in the house,
When my gudeman's awa'.

Scotch Song

She's better than she's bonnie.


June 15.
I met her at a country ball,

There, when the sound of flute and fiddle
Gave signal sweet to that old hall
Of hands across and down the middle.

Winthrop M. Praed.
Thus it is our daughters leave us,
Those we love and those who love us ;
Just when they have learned to help us.


(The Song of Hiawatha).

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